Another Place, Another Time
by Non Timebo Malo
Summary: If there's an answer, he knows he'll find it here. Back on that lake shore, Dean thinks he's just dreaming out loud, hoping on blind hope that Castiel is still there somehow. But maybe it isn't such a wild dream after all... Destiel Slash.


**Summary: If there's an answer, he knows he'll find it here. Back on that lake shore, Dean thinks he's just dreaming out loud, hoping on blind hope that Castiel is still there somehow. But maybe it isn't such a wild dream after all... Destiel Slash. **

**Set in Season 7 verse; at the lake from "The Rapture", 4x20.**

**Hope you enjoy! :)**

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><p><em><strong>Another Place, Another Time<strong>_

Dean still sees Castiel everywhere. He's simply not apt to believe that the angel is dead. He can't be. Cas was always _invincible; _he could take on any foe, any monster, even the fucking _Apocalypse._ He's been everything- an angel, a man, a Leviathan, a God. Beings like that just don't die, not so easily. They can't. It just doesn't happen. And no matter how many times that horrible watery grave plays itself over Dean's subconscious, the man simply cannot believe that could've been the last he'd see of the angel, of _his_ angel. He wasn't giving up, not until he saw a pair of wings charred against the pavement, black as the midnight sky in the darkest of fairytales.

Dean Winchester isn't a quitter. He never gives up, and he sure as Hell won't this time either. Not on Cas. Not a chance.

Ever since that fateful day on that lakeshore, Cas has been everywhere, or at least he has in Dean's eyes. He's been ice skating in New York City, fighting a fire in the Arizona heat, pulling his trench coat a little tighter around his quivering frame in a Colorado snowstorm.

The first few times, Sam almost stopped Dean, stopped him from running after a complete stranger and lying a hand on that stranger's shoulder while his lips formed the single syllable that had been blazed into his heart.

_"Cas?"_

It's always Dean's only word, the short little question that's always met with the wondering eyes of a man Dean's never before seen. It's the one word that holds all the meaning in the universe for Dean, yet its meaning is always poured out like water out of a tumbled glass until it's nothing anymore.

Sam watches Dean each and every time, silently standing by as the spark in his older brother's eyes fizzles out and that cold, hard, devil-may-care mask takes its place, along with a mumbled apology and a parting from the ambushed stranger. Again and again Dean believes that maybe this time, just maybe...

And that's exactly why Sam refuses to stop him- he sees Dean soften for just a minuscule moment in time, allow himself just a moment to feel something, _anything, _a moment during which the smallest spark ignites a blaze of hope deep inside of him. And Sam knows that that hope... Well, that's all Dean has left. Dean needs that, and Sam just doesn't have the heart to blow out the flame before it gets a chance to burn out on its own. He has to allow Dean those little moments.

But this morning is different, Sam knows it is. Dean's been in the Impala all night, scrunched up in the backseat with Castiel's trench coat draped over him like a blanket. Sam, as always, is in the motel room, pretending he doesn't notice, pretending to be asleep, ambivalent to his brother's absence. When he hears the Impala's motor roar to life, though, he can't help but sneak a peek out the dust-streaked window of the little room, just about catching sight of the shiny black car's back bumper turning out of the parking lot. Sam runs one hand back through his hair in an unconscious, worried gesture, but he sighs and lets it be. What else can he do?

Dean's pressing his foot down as hard as he possibly can against the car's gas pedal, begging it to take him away faster, racing the light of the rising sun. It seems like forever and yet no time at all before he's pushing it into park. He's considering pulling a quick u-turn and taking off in the other direction as his hand plays near the ignition. It's a deep breath and a good long time with his eyes screwed tightly shut before he's physically capable of turning off the car.

He leaves the keys in the ignition, clutching only the trench coat as he walks, his footsteps echoing strangely against the dock. As his eyes sweep the lake in front of him, he stifles a shiver, realizing both the familiarity of this place and the fact that this time, he's alone here. The last time he'd been at this lake, he'd been fishing and Cas had joined him, back in the good old days when an Apocalypse, a vessel who wanted his body back, and some Heavenly boot-camp were their biggest problems. Although it had been a dream, the lake was a real place, a real memory of Dean's from some treasured day of his childhood, before life got so damn hard. It was as clear as the fresh blue sky in his mind the way Cas had crept up behind him, the way he'd said, "We need to talk," then explained to Dean how even the dream world wasn't a safe enough place for their little rendezvous. He'd handed Dean a little, folded piece of paper and commanded, "Meet me here. Go now." Cas was so worried, and yet, really, what did those worries matter now? Dean has bigger things to weigh him down now.

A humorless chuckle fills the air at that thought, Dean considering the implications of such a thing as averting an Apocalypse. Funny how it doesn't feel that way. It feels as if _his_ world is ending right now, drawing to a disastrous, shattering close. _But then,_ he thinks with a deep sigh, _I guess it's always the end of the world somewhere._

The wind is blowing a little harder, picking up on the cooler temperature of the lake as Dean reaches the end of the dock and stops in his tracks. If there's an answer, he knows he'll find it here. An involuntary shiver runs up his spine as the wind stirs up another hard gust, and after a moment's consideration, he's throwing the trench coat around his own shoulders. It's the last thing he has that is _Cas's, _so distinctly _Cas's_, and it just feels wrong draped over Dean. It's like the thing is far too big for him, yet Dean knows it isn't physically too large. The coat just has some gravity, some _magnitude_ about it that's more than the physical realm could venture to even so much as dream of, and it's that sheer otherworldliness that Dean just can't fill, that makes him feel like he's a tiny little fish swimming in a great big ocean.

As Dean clutches the trench coat around him just a little tighter, trying to shield himself both from the bitter breeze and the inner coldness he's feeling, he watches as his own tear drops into the water, rippling up the surface of the lake, making it lose the serenity that Cas had brought to it. And in that moment, Dean really thinks he shouldn't have come.

This place is simply not the same without Cas. It's driving Dean insane knowing that he won't feel the dock vibrate under the angel's footsteps, he won't hear the wind in Castiel's wings. He's alone. Really, truly alone here.

"Cas," Dean whispers into the wind, hoping that perhaps the angel isn't really gone, just off somewhere on his angelic duties, busy as always. "I don't... I don't know why I'm here. I _shouldn't_ be here. It's all wrong without you, man. And I don't just mean this place, I mean it is _all_ wrong without you. _Everything._"

A sob wracks his body as Dean stands for a moment, thinking he just heard the ruffle of wings behind him. He turns around, giving in to the natural instinct, half-surprised when there's nobody standing there. But of course there isn't.

"But why Cas?" he continues, "Why did you do it? Why the _Hell_ did you think you could do it alone; why did you think you _had to?_ That's not how we do things, Cas. We do things _together. _Because even when I was alone physically, I was never _really _alone, not like I am now. I always had a motivation, someone in the back of my mind, there with me in a way, helping me to just carry on. It was my mom, or my dad, or Sammy, or Bobby. Sometimes it was people I didn't even know, people I was protecting, saving from something, be it a monster or a ghost or a demon or the Apocalypse. There was always _someone _I was fighting for, _someone _keeping me from being alone, and most of the time, that person was _you, Cas. You._ So now you're gone, and what the _fuck_ do I do now? I can't-"

But then he stops, and he could swear he just felt a droplet of water landing on his face. Funny thing is, he doesn't feel as if it'd come from the clear sky. No, it felt like it'd come from the lake, jumped up out of nowhere and just hit him back, like one of his own tears had decided it had the ability to bounce. And there's Dean, clinging to the stupidest hope that maybe his tears had somehow reached the angel, found a way to carry a message to him, somewhere beyond this world, and maybe that was Castiel's answer to him.

After all, isn't it true that water is a great uniting element? For really, doesn't all water meet up with all other water at some time? Does not everything eventually lead to water? Let a droplet of water fall on the pavement. Let it roll down a hill, or even let it evaporate. Eventually, it'll find it's way to some lake, somewhere, whether it got there through the sheer force of gravity pulling it downhill or by raining down. That lake will eventually get its water into a river, or groundwater, and all rivers lead to the sea, the great common denominator. That's the magic of water: it's everything and nothing all at once. Right now, sure, it's here. But wait a moment, then what? Then it will be somewhere else, and on it will go, perhaps ending up right back in front of you, maybe in seconds, maybe someday light years away. It'll always return.

Dean's on his hands and knees staring down into the lake for quite some time, trying to get ever-closer to it. And yet, all he sees is his own reflection. When he whispers that word so stuck in his mind, _"Cas?"_, all he hears in return is its echo, taunting him forevermore, _"Cas."_

It's a long time before Dean gets up and shakes his head, chastising himself for being do damn _stupid_, so damn _hopeful._ He never does catch a fucking break; why would he catch one now? That'd just be illogical; it'd go against every bit of divine conspiracy ever angled against him.

As he turns around to leave, he can't help it, he has but one more thing to say. "Cas," he speaks, his voice barely audible at all, "I never told you. But you knew, _didn't you?_ Just give me a sign, some kind of sign, let me know that you knew. You knew that I lo-" But then he just shakes his head, once again in an inner battle with what he considers his own stupidity, hope piled upon blind hope. And away he walks.

Dean takes the trench coat off once he's back inside his car. Thing just didn't feel right on him. Maybe it'd be different had Cas been around, had Cas draped it over his shoulders, but that just wasn't the case, and why even consider the hypothetical, the impossible?

The Impala winds down the road back to the motel, and Dean flies right by the street he should've turned down. He doesn't feel like going back there, like facing Sam with a tear-stained face. He just needs a little time to himself to get his thoughts together. The song on the radio makes it a little bit harder though, every word sending another arrow piercing through Dean's heart.

**"I'm all out of love,**

**I'm so lost without you.**

**I know you were right**

**Believing for so long."**

And just as the words hit Dean with their full brunt, he swears he hears the flap of wings. Turning to his right, he's fairly certain the phrase 'dingo-ate-my-baby-crazy' described him perfectly.

Blue eyes deep as the lake he'd just stared into. Dark hair standing up, reaching to the high Heavens in every direction. A tie of the same deep blue as his eyes. Everything _but_ a trench coat, the one Dean is cradling in his lap.

"Hello, Dean."

It's a simple, two-word greeting, but Dean could never have asked for anything more. It's all he's wanted, all this time, for _so damn long._

The Impala is off on the side of the road in an instant, and Dean is turned fully around in his seat, speechless, just staring at the angel sitting beside him. _The angel sitting beside him._

"Uh, Dean?" Castiel interjects, but Dean lacks the ability to respond. After a moment's silence, Cas speaks again. "Could I... Perhaps get my overcoat back? I feel a bit... Naked without it. Please?"

Cas gestures toward the trench coat, wet with Dean's tears and sitting in the man's lap. Dean's just waiting for Castiel to disappear, or for himself to wake up, back in Hell. Surely he's either crazy or dreaming, or maybe he'd drowned to death back in that lake.

As Cas's hand makes contact with the coat in Dean's lap, though, Dean can_ feel_ it, he can feel _Cas_, the pressure of the angel's hand on his upper thighs. And he snaps out of it, pulling the trench coat away and out of Castiel's reach with a simple, "No."

"But- why would you not be willing to return my clothing to me?" Castiel asks, blue eyes wide. Leave it to this angel to worry about his damn coat at a time like this.

"Because. Son of a bitch, Cas, you'll see," is Dean's simple answer, and before the angel has a chance to respond, Dean's lips are locked with his.

Castiel's eyes don't close; he hardly has any idea what is going on. Then, as he catches on, when Dean's tongue presses against his bottom lip, hotly tracing the think pink line, a flutter of wings sounds in the heavy air of the car, and suddenly the two are in the backseat, Dean lying on top of Cas and smiling into the kiss.

Damn, he's missed this angel.

Dean's shirt is gone before he knows it, slung into the front seat along with Castiel's shirt and tie. Grinding his hips down into Cas's, the angel stifles a moan into Dean's mouth and his tongue flicks up against the roof of the hunter's mouth. A slow, steady trusting ensues, and the hunter and the angel are both quite nearly being pushed over the edge before their pants are even off.

But they won't have it stay that way. Dean moves his lips down to Castiel's neck, tracing the angel's sternum with sweet little kisses, sucking just hard enough to claim Castiel as his own, to keep that the truth forever. Cas's hands are around Dean's hips, awkwardly fumbling at the hemline of Dean's pants as if he hasn't the slightest clue in the world what he should do. He's just not sure how this sort of thing even works; it's not his area of expertise. But he trusts Dean, he's willing to let the hunter help him with all of this, teach him about this.

Dean smiles at Castiel's awkward little motions, and deftly rids them both of pants in smooth, quick moves. Cas shivers against the cold, spurring Dean to get ever-closer to him, to ride this out pure skin on skin, warm the angel up. Reaching under the driver's seat, Dean pulls out the little container of lube that's been hidden there, untouched for what seems like centuries. Sufficiently covering his fingers in the stuff, he lines up one finger at Castiel's opening.

"Shh Cas," he whispers, his lips just inches from the angel's when Castiel makes a scared little whimper, "I've got you, don't worry."

Cas's wide blue eyes close as Dean pushes that finger inside of him and Castiel's muscles tighten around him. Dean keeps his lips moving on the angel's as he goes, distracting him, comforting him, _helping_ him.

Soon enough, Cas loosens up, pulling his lips off Dean's for a moment. "I-I-I'm ready," he stutters, catching on to this arrangement rather quickly, "I ne-need you now, D-Dean."

Dean grows only harder, as if that were possible, as he hears Cas moan his name, a breathy, quiet little beg. Lining up at Castiel's entrance, he moves his hands down to help Castiel wrap his legs around the hunter's waist.

"Are you sure you want this Cas? We don't have to," Dean murmurs comfortingly, his voice deep and husky.

Cas just nods, blue eyes childishly wide, and Dean can hardly contain himself. He wants this more than he's ever wanted anything, and he can see the same emotion reflecting in Cas's eyes. _Love._

"Alright, Cas," Dean continues, letting his lips brush against the angel's as he speaks and Cas's eyes flutter shut, "Relax, okay?"

And then he enters Cas, slowly, gently, allowing the angel to get accustomed to the feeling. Cas lets out a little scream of pain intermingled with pleasure as Dean bottoms out inside of him, sinking fully into _his_ angel and touching Cas's prostate as he does.

Dean starts slow, hardly moving at all, but soon it becomes faster, more needy, more intense. He's wanted this for _so damn long,_ and in that moment, he knows Castiel has too. He's aware that he's about to climax, and reaches his hand between their bodies, tickling his fingers against the head of Castiel's erection.

Just as Cas moans, "D-Dean," he comes, a hot sticky mess slicking the space between them.

What Cas does next, it drives Dean _insane._ Dean's already coming deep inside of Cas, but this whole encounter takes on a whole new level when Castiel's hand comes into contact with the scar on Dean's shoulder with a profound electricity. Just then, it's like every moment of their lives together flashes before Dean's eyes, bringing their current joining to a whole new level. Dean's whole body is tingling in pleasure when he pulls out of Cas.

"_Fuck_, Cas," he moans, "That was _amazing."_

Castiel just smiles. "Yes, that was rather nice. I have quite missed you, Dean."

Dean has to laugh; he just can't believe any of this insanity is real at all. That's _Cas_ he has his arms around, _Cas_ he just made love to. _CASTIEL._

And then the angel smiles too, the smile Dean had seen so rarely but fallen so deeply in love with. "Does this qualify as a sign that yes, I did know?" the angel asks, innocently answering Dean's earlier question, the one the man thought he'd addressed to open, empty airspace.

The hunter's mouth drops open. "You _heard _me?"

"I _always _hear you, Dean. We do share a more profound bond." It's as though Castiel is telling Dean the most obvious, intrinsic piece of knowledge in the world.

Dean just presses his lips to Castiel's once more in a sweet, chaste kiss. "Where have you been, man? I couldn't take it anymore, not without you."

"I know," Castiel comments, again like it's so obvious, "That is why I'm back. Your tears in the water, they were a force that gave me new life. They brought me back to life, back to you. Thank you."

Dean just smiles. Cas is _thanking_ him? Stupid son of a bitch; Dean wonders if he'll ever get it. But then, it doesn't really matter. He couldn't love the angel any more anyway. "I love you, Cas. So much."

Cas smiles once more. "And I you. I've loved you since before I even knew what love was; I will always love you, Dean. I promise."

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><p><strong>Alrighty then. So that was spun off a picture prompt from my Creative Writing class. Just a little more proof that Destiel is everywhere ;) It was a picutre of a boy on a lake shore with the title "Another Place, Another Time" and the one-liner "If there was an answer, he knew he'd find it here." Yeah, I think my teacher knows of my ship preferences and quite enjoys taunting my life. Or he's just amazing like that. Probably both. <strong>

**Anyways, here's hoping you liked it! Got opinions? I'd positively adore hearing them... _So very much love to the reviewers! _**


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